


In a Century

by LucyMontero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Gen, Gen Work, Hogwarts, Pre-Philosopher's Stone, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyMontero/pseuds/LucyMontero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1847: The height of the Great Famine, and Hogwarts has the lowest student population in recent memory.  Young and inexperienced Headmaster Marduk Ambrose makes the bold move to accept first year students normally too young to attend, to bring the young wizards safely into the castle and away from the devastating sickness and want. With half the Gryffindor Quidditch team lost over the summer, the desperate efforts to field a team will lead to the selection of the youngest Seeker in House history. A record that will stand for over a century.<br/>And that is just the first amongst many records set that pivotal year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Many?

**Author's Note:**

> The story was inspired by the idea that Harry Potter was the youngest Gryffindor Seeker in a century. I was interested in the circumstances that would have produced a Seeker younger than 11, and so treated the term "century" as a rough estimate of time, to allow me to place the story during the Irish famine. A desperate time when Hogwarts, out of humanitarian interests, might be motivated to break with tradition a bit and take students even younger than 11, and one of those student ends up as Seeker.
> 
> However, because I almost always write large ensembles, and because the perspective of a 10 year old Quidditch player isn't a place I can write from for long, this story turned into a story of the entire castle. Cuthbert Binns is still alive- for the moment. The great House rival of the Slytherins is the Ravenclaws, not the Gryffindors. Everyone respects the Slytherin Head of House, but the Herbology professor is known for showing more care for his deadly plants than the first years. A new manual of illegal Quidditch fouls has been smuggled in from Peru (by the Ravenclaws, naturally)- causing panic amongst the other teams, and practice and classes are constantly being interrupted as Helena Cadaver insists on talking about women's suffrage at every opportunity....

Chapter One: How Many?

 

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry England June, 1847**

 

The sun was still shining as Janas Heirndall, Keeper of the Keys of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, made his way back to the castle from Hogsmeade. He had completed his last official duty of the school year moments ago when he'd secured the last student inside the Hogwarts Express and watched it pull out of the station and head south. It had always been a mostly happy time for all, the end of term; for while there were partings and goodbyes, it was also the beginning of the summer holidays, and everyone was anxious for freedom.

 

But this year was different, and although the sun shone on it still felt as gloomy as if the sky had been blanketed with clouds.

 

Janas sighed and tried to push the thought out of his mind for a moment. He passed through the gates and thought of swinging by the kitchens for a quick bite or two when to his surprise he saw the headmaster standing outside the main door, staring in the direction of the village.

 

Hogwarts Headmaster Marduk Ambrose was quite possibly the tallest man Janas had ever seen, and Janas himself was no dwarf, standing a neat 6' 1". But Professor Ambrose topped him by at least 3 inches, and when he was wearing the formal, pointed wizard's hat over his coppery hair, it seemed like infinitely more.

 

But Professor Ambrose was not wearing that hat at the moment, although he had during the final breakfast that morning. He held it in both hands now, crushing it a bit and not really noticing as his eyes followed the puff of steam that was moving steadily south.

 

Janas was almost upon him before the headmaster noticed his presence.

 

"Ah, Janas, everything go smoothly then?"

 

"Yes, of course headmaster, smooth as can be."

 

"Hard to believe the year is over, isn't it?"

 

"Yes sir, seems this year passed faster than the last one."

 

"Too fast," the headmaster said, more to himself than to Janas, "And they will be away too long before we see them again."

 

It disturbed Janas to see the headmaster so powerful gloomy. "But they'll be back soon enough Professor Ambrose, you'll see. They'll be back soon enough."

 

"I suppose you're right, Mr. Heirndall," Marduk motioned for Janas to precede him into the castle before turning and watching the Hogwarts Express move out of sight.

 

"But how many won't be?"

 

* * *

 

Professor Ambrose sat at his desk, which was clear save for the school sorting hat, and two rolls of parchment, one significantly longer than the other.

 

Before him sat his senior staff, his heads of house, all of them tense, and a bit nervous. But he was becoming used to it. It wasn't often that the headmaster of Hogwarts found himself younger than most of the teachers.

 

For Marduk Cadmus Ambrose was the youngest headmaster Hogwarts had seen in 250 years, being granted the position at the age of 38. At 41 he was senior only to Magni Muspell, his enthusiastic Care of Magical Creatures professor, who had originally been posted at Hogwarts as a temporary position following a terrible accident in Romania 3 years ago, but who had liked it so much he had decided to stay on. Magni, who was now 29, also assisted Janas with any business in the forest, and announced all the Quidditch matches, which kept the students happy since before him the spot kept falling to a cheeky Gryffindor who gave slightly biased coverage.

 

Marduk was tied with his Transfiguration professor and head of Hufflepuff house, Fenris Krake, who was also 41, but who had just completed his 13th year at Hogwarts, his 3rd as head of house. Fenris and Marduk had been fast friends during their student years, and while many suspected favoritism in Fenris's placement, it had actually been none of Marduk's doing at all. While he respected Fenris very much, the head of house appointment to replace retiring Care of Magical Creatures Professor Mimir, whose class would now be taught by Magni Muspell, had been pre-arranged by old headmistress Cronos prior to her retirement. Of course, Marduk had been taught by Professor Cronos himself, and he wondered if she, remembering his friendship with Fenris, had taken that into account when making the appointment.

 

Fenris was currently lounging in an armchair, the mirth that usually surrounded his features void from his expression today. To his left sat Rosmerta Babalel, head of Ravenclaw House, and professor of Arithmancy and Advanced Astronomy. Basic Astronomy classes at all levels were taught by their Divination professor, Cassandra Sulis, who was currently visiting family and would return to school in August.

 

Marduk tried to hide his smile, he knew exactly why Fenris was sitting next to her; for although she was 9 years his senior Rosmerta was still a very attractive woman, and though nothing would ever come of it, Fenris flirted with her at every opportunity.

 

But there was no flirting today, and Fenris was simply trying to ease Rosmerta's fears, and the pain of the last few weeks.

 

On Rosmerta's left, solid, strong, and a rock in the midst if the crisis was Aegis Odin, Marduk's Potion's professor and head of Gryffindor House. Odin was 57, but built as if he had been carved out of a mountain and in better shape than many men 15 years his junior. His shaggy brown hair showed no signs of gray, and the few lines on his well tanned face only added distinction. How the Potions Master managed to maintain a tan while working in perpetual darkness was a riddle many students had tried and failed to solve over the years. Marduk satisfied himself with the fact that he was 3⁄4 of an inch taller than Odin, they had measured at the end of the year to settle a wager. Fenris had been forced to buy them all a round at the Three Broomsticks.

 

Aegis was deep in conversation with the woman to his left, and had been since they walked in. Eirene Ashtoroth was head of Slytherin House, his Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and his Deputy Headmistress. Marduk could recall many times in the past 3 years when he would have been lost without her. The woman was 70 if she was a day, but often had more energy than Marduk himself. That also was the source of much speculation, but when Marduk had asked her about her youthfulness, for she didn't look a day over 60, she had simply shrugged, in typical youthful fashion, and told him that the students kept her young. She and Aegis had been good friends for over 20 years, and it was a good thing, for their students were so often involved in schemes and conflicts that it would have been a very hostile working environment indeed if they did not get on well. But Eirene was universally accepted, even among the Gryffindor students, as being fair and even handed among her pupils. She was the widowed mother of four and grandmother of eight at the moment, which gave her a wonderful capacity for understanding children, something Marduk often felt that he lacked.

 

"Professor Ambrose?" Rosmerta broke him out of his musings, "The letters don't need to go out for another month."

 

It was a question in the form of a statement, which was often the case with the Aritmancy professor, for Professor Babalel had excellent powers of deduction, and even without them she would have been able to gather that when the headmaster called the heads of house together in June to look at the Hogwarts Prospective Student List, something important was going on.

 

"They don't traditionally go out until the end of July, Rosemerta, that doesn't mean they don't need to go out sooner this year."

 

Fenris nodded, "You want to send them earlier then, may I ask why?"

 

"I want to add an addendum to the letter, not all of them, but certain letters. I want the addendum to state that these students should be ready to leave by the 7th of July."

 

"That's in two weeks!" Aegis was normally more composed, and Fenris was as surprised as he. But Fenris knew Marduk, and he knew he did nothing without a reason.

 

"Headmaster," Eirene added softly, "Where do you want these children to go? Are we to open the castle?"

 

"How many children?" Rosmerta added.

 

"I have a preliminary list here," Marduk passed the paper to Eirene, "It won't be finished until we go over the "undecided" list the hat provided this afternoon."

 

"Undecided?" Fenris queried, this was normally a task for the headmaster and deputy headmistress, he had never seen to the arranging of the Hogwarts letters.

 

"It's a smaller list produced after the Sorting Hat gives us the master list," Eirene explained without taking her eyes off the paper she had been handed, "It contains students that have magic enough to enter Hogwarts, but have a conflict of sort relating to their enrollment. The hat doesn't know exactly, only that these children need special consideration. Normally it is either that they are already on the rolls for Beauxbatons or Durmstrongs, they may be too young and should be deferred a year, or they may be older than 11, and for some reason are only now eligible to enter. But that last one hasn't happened in 300 years, it occurred only when a child was transferred from another school, and Hogwarts doesn't take many transfers nowadays; if we do we normally submit their names to the hat for verification, the hat doesn't provide them."

 

Eirene's eyes passed over the list one last time before she passed it to Professor Odin. "Marduk, what do you want to do with them?"

 

Ambrose leaned back in his chair. "We already have a list of wizarding families who offered their homes at the end of term. You know as well as I that less than 1⁄2 of the students who were offered places took them. I intend to send those students, and the names on the list, the amended letter. If there aren't places enough among the current list of volunteers I have plenty of friends at the ministry who have offered their homes. My mother herself wrote me only last week to remind me that no one was staying in my old bedroom."

 

Rosmerta handed the list to Fenris, "If they didn't take the offer at the end of term, what makes you think the older students will take it now?"

 

"They won't have a choice. I am considering this a mandatory part of the Hogwarts curriculum. If they won't take it out of charity we can find them some sort of job at the Ministry to earn their board, but accepting is absolutely non-negotiable if they want to attend Hogwarts."

 

"Marduk-" Professor Ashtoroth began, but Marduk avoided the sympathy in her tone by presenting the smaller list from his desk.

 

"I wanted you all here today because you are the ones who will be in charge of these students, should they be admitted and I intend to admit almost all of them, so I only thought it right that you were all here. It's not very long. Eirene, you have the lists sent by Beauxbatons and Durmstrongs?"

 

Eirene nodded, "I promised them a complete master list by this afternoon so they could double check," she warned.

 

"We'll have it for them."

 

They went through, checking name after name. Those names that were already on the confirmed lists from the other schools received a sharp tap from Ambrose's wand, the name disappeared, the scroll he was holding rolled up at the end as it shortened, and a check appeared next to the name on the corresponding school's list. If a student was approved to enter, for example, Icarus Argo, who was only 10 but who would be 11 on the 13th of November, Ambrose would again tap the paper sharply with his wand, the name would appear on the Hogwarts master list, which would uncurl a bit as it grew longer, and the name would vanish from the undecided list.

 

"McCarthy, Fianna, another 10 year old." Eirene read.

 

"When's the birthday?" Rosmerta responded automatically.

 

"30th of December."

 

Aegis whistled, "Cutting it close, might be better to wait a year, she'd be closer in age to her classmates."

 

"What's the address?" Marduk had asked the question after every name on the list.

 

Eirene tapped the name with her wand, and in bright green, looping writing, the address appeared below the name.

 

"Skibbereen, County Cork, Ireland."

 

"Is it a wizarding family?"

 

Rosmerta checked her lists, "No, sir, there are no known wizarding families living in Skibbereen."

 

"She comes."

 

"Sir-"

 

"She comes! It's Skibbereen for Merlin's-"

 

Marduk was silenced by an icy tinkling sound, all eyes turned to the master list, which lay next to the hat before Marduk on his desk. As they watched, the long scroll rolled a little tighter. A name had been erased.

 

Marduk curled is hand into a fist, counted to 10, and then slammed it down on the arm of his chair. "Damn!"

 

Fenris swore under his breath, Aegis snapped his quill in two, Rosmerta let out a shaky sigh. But Eirene's eyes were on the headmaster.

 

"You can't save all of Ireland, Marduk, you know that. The Ministry's tried all they can but with the cholera and the typhus-"

 

"That list hasn't left my sight all week, Eirene, and that's the 6th one we've lost; in a week, and just among the incoming first years. I will not sit here and wait for two months for the sake of tradition while my students are dying. Every name on this list that isn't already going to Beauxbatons or Durmstrong is coming to Hogwarts, I don't care of they're 6! And every muggle-born Irish student we have is spending the rest of their summer in safety if I have to tie them down and bring them here myself."

 

No one said anything; there was nothing to say, they all agreed with him. They were all silently praying for their own students, hoping they all returned in September, knowing that they all probably wouldn't.

 

Marduk sighed and took the list that was passed to him by Professor Ashtoroth. He smiled down at the name of "McCarthy Fianna" before tapping it with his wand, watching it disappear from one list, and hearing the master list unroll as another name was added, replacing the one that had been lost.

 

"Well my dear, it's your lucky day."

 

He looked up at his staff and tried to smile. "The letters go out tonight."

 

* * *

**Skibbereen, County Cork, Ireland 6 July, 1847**

 

Fianna McCarthy had not had any intention of being in this part of town today. As she had stepped out the door that morning to say farewell to the village of Skibbereen, where she had lived her entire life, her mother had warned her especially to stay clear of the cemetery. Fianna had every intention of following the river, and so had not the least intention of disobeying. It wasn't her fault that her cousin Eamon happened upon her and dragged her into town, and then back to his house to say goodbye to her aunt and cousins. From Eamon's house the fastest way home went by the cemetery, and it was getting dark. Not that Fianna, a strong lass of ten years would ever be afraid of the dark, mind you, but the fastest way back was the fastest way back, and so she set off down the road.

 

As soon as she crested the hill and looked down she was grateful for the night that was sweeping in, and it took all her mettle not to turn tail and run back toward her aunt's. Eamon would never let her hear the end of it, and she was being teased enough as it was on account of her going off to school in England. She set her chin and tried to look at the road ahead, or the sky, or the trees, anything but the mass grave pit that was being dug and filled to her left. It wasn't that she had no respect for the dead, but Fianna had seen enough of it. The town of Skibbereen had been one of the hardest hit in all of Ireland by the Great Famine, and Fianna didn't think her spirit could take seeing anymore dead bodies, especially when she knew she would recognize the faces.

 

This was why she had to leave, her mother had told her. This was why, despite all the talk of wizardry and witchcraft, that letter had been a message from God, calling her away to save her from the darkness that had settled over Eire.

 

Fianna felt like she was running away. For was she not abandoning her family to starvation to live in comfort, in England of all places, while the rest of Ireland suffered?

 

Her mother had reminded her that a goodly percentage of the village that had not been taken to God had left already, just in the other direction, and she couldn't deny the thousands who were headed to America. And the McCarthy's were a hearty bunch, her mother had assured her. With the men off to the city to earn money, there would be enough to get by, and it would be easier with one less mouth to feed. They should thank their lucky stars that it seemed this school didn't want them to pay for tuition or anything at all, really.

 

It still felt like running away, and Fianna was heartsick at not just the thought of leaving, but of who might not be here, for one reason or another, when she returned.

 

She quickened her steps, which did not constitute running, and hastened home, for the last meager meal she would share with her family for a long time to come.

 

* * *

**Dublin, Ireland 7 July, 1847**

 

Nora Morrigan checked one last time that she had everything. The little bit of paper with the name and address, the directions to and from the portkey, a second wrap in case the weather turned nasty. She pulled on her cloak, she was all set.

 

No, she thought again, she wasn't, she was missing one thing. Her son.

 

"Finn!"

 

She swept out of the kitchen with determination. The boy was not going to slip past her this time.

 

"Finn!"

 

She opened the door to the broom closet and smiled. He hadn't gotten to his broom yet, escape was impossible. She picked it up and hid it in the closet behind the mops and pails, a place she wasn't sure Finn even knew existed.

 

"Finbar Michael Morrigan!"

 

She swept up the narrow staircase from the kitchen and poked her head into the first bedroom on the right. Her eldest daughter was seated at a vanity, experimenting with ways to put her hair up. She read the charm aloud from a small book, then tapped her head with her wand, watching with satisfaction as her golden blond tresses arranged themselves in a perfect twist.

 

Nora smiled, and unconsciously patted her own hair, the same color as Cordelia's, although now kept that way with the help of Madam Marzipan's Magically Natural Hair Tonic.

 

"Cordy, have you seen him?"

 

"He tore by this way not five minutes ago, headed for the front stairs, did you hide the broom?"

 

Nora nodded, "Of course."

 

Cordy grinned, "Then he'll either try to get Caitlin's or hide on the roof."

 

"Where is your sister? Did she degnome the garden like I asked?"

 

Cordelia tossed her head in exasperation. "Up a tree probably. I heard some shouting an hour ago, so the garden may be clear. But the post brought another one of her books and my guess is she'll be buried in it all afternoon, in the garden most likely as she complains that these charms leave the room smelling like a house of ill repute."

 

Nora sighed, her middle child's combination of coltishness and pedagogy was endearing to her, but occasionally exasperating to her stylish older sister. She was also certain that "house of ill repute" had not been Caitlin's choice of words, and she thanked Merlin for the millionth time that Cordelia seemed to be blessed with more than her fair share of serenity and patience.

 

She noted that her daughter was wearing her good blouse and nice skirt.

 

"Is Brian calling later?"

 

Cordelia nodded, "He said he'd come round for tea. We thought we might take a look at his new broom?" There was a pleading look in her eyes. Cordelia may have been the most ladylike of any female in the Morrigan clan, including her mother, but it was impossible to have grown up in the household without a strong love of Quidditch,

 

Nora tried to keep her face stern, knowing full well her husband would murder her if she backed down on his rule. "You may look at it all you like my dear, but you know very well about how your father feels. You'll not be getting on a broomstick with any young man until you're 18."

 

Cordelia recognized the look in her mother's eyes, and cursed that school was so far away, when it was always easy to slip out for a ride. "Aye, I understand. You best be after Finn if you don't want to be late."

 

Nora smiled and headed down the hall to her bedroom, where she could see the back garden from her window. A booted leg dangled from the branches of the large tree in the center. Caitlin, reading no doubt, and no doubt comfortable up there, though Nora knew not how. The stockings indicated that Caitlin was at least wearing a skirt, though her mother winced at the stains and tears that would result from climbing about in trees. She then thought the better of shouting down to her daughter, she was lucky Caitlin wasn't wearing trousers, as she was want to do; the garden walls were not so high that the neighbors wouldn't see, and they found the Morrigans queer enough as it were.

 

As she was watching an apple fell from above passed her window. A partially eaten apple.

 

Finn, she thought with triumph. She stuck her head and shoulders out of the window and peered up.

 

"Finbar Morrigan you come inside this instant and get your cloak! We have an errand to run!"

 

 

"I know you are up there Finn I saw the apple, come down."

 

Silence again.

 

"Finbar, so help me, I WILL destroy your precious broomstick if you do not come down this instant. You k now your da thinks you don't spend enough time on your studies to have earned it anyway!"

 

"Ma don't!"

 

With a scurry and scramble that had her heart in her throat, though she'd seen him do it a thousand times, her 12 year old son came scrambling down the drain pipe, dropping the last heart stopping 5 feet to the ground and springing up to his feet.

 

"Ma, come on!"

 

"Inside you miscreant, now!"

 

Sullen and indignant, she watched him stomp into the kitchen before pulling her head in, but not before giving the McAllisters maid, who was next door hanging out the second story window staring at them, a hearty wave before pulling it shut.

 

* * *

"I still don't see why I have to come," Finn grumbled as he trudged along the country road behind his mother.

 

"Because you're the only one of my children near her own age, it'll do the little lamb good, put her mind at ease."

 

"But I'm older than her," Finn stood up straight, "She's just a firstie."

 

"You're only 12 boy-o, Caitlin's 15 and Cordelia's 17, so that makes you the closest in age."

 

"How old is she?"

 

"Let's see here. ah, she's 10."

 

"10! She's a baby."

 

"Poor little baby," Mrs. Morrigan said to herself as she looked around at the outskirts of Skibbereen before turning her attention back to her son.

 

"You will be a polite and courteous young man or I will tan your hide. Her family's Muggles after all, so this will be quite bewildering for her."

 

"She'll probably cry," Finn scoffed.

 

"Look around you boy-o, if she's managed to survive all of this, I'm betting she's a lot stronger than you think."

 

Finn looked at the dingy dwellings, many looked abandoned, until you passed close enough to see that there were people living in them. Finn thought it had been pleasanter when he thought no one was still living in such a place.

 

Nora watched her son's dark head take in his surroundings. The wizards of Ireland had not been terribly affected by the Great Famine that had plagued the nation. Her husband Douglas and eldest son Fergus both had jobs with the Ministry, the Morrigan family had not been farmers in more than a century. They lived in a good part of Dublin, and at the moment were kept safe from the diseases that were sweeping the country. All the same, when the children went back to school she and Douglas planned on closing up the Dublin house, and moving to live with his brother and family in England for the winter. Nora just couldn't imagine being alone with the bleakness every day. She was glad that Finn had this chance to see what was really happening to his country, for many Hogwarts students were affected, and he should understand how.

 

He seemed to understand that, for when the blue eyes returned to hers, they no longer contained the insolence and trademark Morrigan stubbornness that they had held before.

 

"How much further?"

 

"She's not far outside the village, should be just over this hill. They wanted the portkey well out of town, so no one would see. I told them we didn't mind a little walk, the weather's lovely."

 

The weather was overcast and looked like it was going to rain any second, but Finn said nothing.

 

They crested the hill, and Finn could see the town and the river below him, a ways off yet. But closer by, standing near the road in front of a small cottage was a tiny red headed girl, and she had a bag in her hands.

 

"That her?"

 

Nora squinted and nodded, "I believe Headmaster Ambrose instructed them to wait by the road, he seemed to think the faster this was done the better."

 

Finn thought Professor Ambrose was right. They approached the cottage and Nora smiled broadly.

 

"Why, you must be Fianna, I'm thinking?"

 

The girl nodded, "Fianna McCarthy, m'am, pleased to meet you."

 

Nora beamed. "I'm Mrs. Morrigan, and this is my son, Finbar."

 

"Finn," he corrected.

 

The little girl nodded and smiled. "Thank you for helping to come get me, I could have managed, but the letter said-"

 

"Oh don't you worry your little head about it, this is how the headmaster wants it. Now, if you'd like to go and say your farewells to your family, we can wait here."

 

Fianna turned back to look at the cottage, then shook her head, "I can't now, they've gone."

 

Mrs. Morrigan sucked in her breath, "Oh my dear I'm -"

 

Fianna understood and laughed, clear and bright, "Oh no! No no no, they've just gone to church, I said my farewells a few minutes ago. There was a funeral today they needed to attend."

 

Finn decided he liked her laugh. "I'm sorry, was it a member of the family?"

 

Fianna turned to him and nodded. "Second cousin on my mother's side. Shall we go?"

 

Nora nodded, "Do you have a trunk dear?"

 

Fianna looked down at the tatty carpetbag at her feet, and shook her head.

 

Nora took her hand and led her off, "Well, I daresay they'll get you settled and squared away in London. Bring the bag, Finn. Now my dear, I need to explain to you a few things, first off, I don't suppose you've ever heard of a portkey before?"


	2. In Which Cecily Craven is Doomed to be Disappointed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Ambrose's plan goes into effect.

**Chapter 2: In Which Cecily Craven Is Doomed to Be Disappointed**

"When are they getting here?"

"Not till this afternoon, your father and Danny will be bringing them home from work along with Kieran and Douglas."

"How many?"

"I can't say for certain, dear, but I can't imagine more than 3 or 4, even with the extra cots, we have limited space in here."

"And you're sure you don't know ANY of their names?"

"No."

"Not any?"

"My dear, if you are so clumsily trying to ask me whether Bridget O'Toole is among them then the answer is no. The same as it was this morning, and yesterday evening at dinner."

"But, she HAS to come, doesn't she? Because the headmaster said that they all had to go and-"

"I am sure that Bridget is being quite properly looked after, but that does not mean she will be spending any time here."

"Are there at least any GIRLS among this bunch?"

Eileen Craven thought somewhat despondently of the state of her parlor once her husband, eldest son, 7th year Kieran Riley and 5th year Douglas Douglas had finished stamping the floo powder off their cloaks and boots at the end of their day. She thought of the massive amounts of food that were required to feed those bottomless pits they had the nerve to call stomachs. And she thought of the noise, sweet merciful Merlin, the noise...

"Yes my dear, a few girls would be nice."

A bell rang in the front hall.

"I'll get it!"

"Cecily, please have a care for your grandmother's china, you're meant to inherit that if you don't destroy every piece before dinner."

Cecily quickly placed the cup and saucer she had knocked to the floor back on the table and dashed for the door.

She tried not to let her face drop too much when she saw who had come to call.

"Oh, hello Mrs. O'Fallon, hello Dylan."

"Good afternoon Cecily, is your mother at home?"

"She's in the parlor, we were just sitting down to tea. Come in, would you care to stay for some?"

Please God let her be in a hurry.

Kate O'Fallon chuckled silently to herself, and smiled in appreciation of Cecily's deeply ingrained sense of company manners. Despite the cheerful facade she was perfectly well aware that that child would sooner offer herself to a Norwegian Ridgeback for breakfast than sit down to tea with her Dylan. Their mutual hatred was a frequent topic of conversation between herself and Eileen once the children were away at school, for, indeed, they had been the most bitter of rivals during their school years. In fact they had been archenemies until one fated day in 5th year potions, when their misflung hexes had resulted in mutual confinement to the hospital wing for 6 weeks, completely bald and without the use of thumbs. They had been fast friends ever since.

With a smile of fond remembrance Kate patted her chestnut curls and shook her head.

"No dear, not today. I just came by to drop off a few tidbits we had in the kitchen, from what I hear you're feeding an army around here lately."

"And it's getting larger by the hour," Eileen sailed in from the parlor, handing the basket from Kate to Cecily and kissing Kate on the cheek. "Why hello, Dylan, my you've grown this summer haven't you?"

Dylan, swallowed his frown and smiled, "Hello Mrs. Craven." Mrs. Craven had been telling him that he'd grown every sumer for as long as he could remember. Fortunately, his mother and Cecily's began rattling on, as they always did, and he wasn't required to say anything further.

"Kate dear, there's enough in here to feed us for a week! You didn't have to do this!"

"Well, I felt I ought to, seeing as we couldn't take any students in ourselves, poor little dears. We talked about it of course, Patrick and I, but Patrick's mother and father are already staying with us, and his sister's family as well, just until they sell the Dublin house, they're moving to Sussex, did you hear?"

"Maggie's going to Sussex, truly? Well it can't have been her idea, how on earth did Edgar manage to get her to go? And I thought he was pleased with the Dublin house?"

"Oh it's not that really, I think they planed to move just as soon as her parents were settled in with us, the Dublin house is getting a bit snug, and for a family of five it just won't do-"

"Five! I hadn't hear about THAT at all! When is she due? I think you better come tell me all about it. Cecily, take Mrs. O'Fallon's wrap dear. And Dylan, yes you just leave those parcels there and come in and have some tea."

At that moment the unspeakable tortures of Azkaban would have been as welcome as a picnic by the sea in June to Cecily Craven and Dylan O'Fallon. The last time their mothers had sat down to tea the event had lasted 4 hours, by which time it had grown dark and Dylan and his mother had stayed for supper.

Oh if only her father would bring home a girl!

* * *

 

It was a busy afternoon at the Ministry of Magic. First there was that unfortunate incident involving the Experimental Potions Department's untimely spillage of a new low viscosity broom wax in the main entry hall, which, coupled with last week's memo to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department about the sovereign importance of punctuality, had resulted in several eager workers sent to the infirmary at 7 in the morning with assorted broken bones, bruises, and concussions.

The timing of the whole affair was most unfortunate, as just before noon an alarm came into the office that somehow a teapot which an employee had enchanted to sing, dance and spray lukewarm water around the table, "Just a present for my niece, that's all", had been left in a carriage, recovered by muggles, and soaked an entire assemblage of the Ladies for Christian Decency and Decorum Society in a VERY good part of town. With all the more eager and more adept members of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department still in the infirmary, an assembly of the less experienced staffers had been sent out to remedy the situation.

All appeared to go well, until it became apparent that instead of administering a memory charm to cause all the ladies to forget about the singing, dancing, spraying teapot, poor Mr. Levys, who had been late to work on account of a headache for which, it would later be revealed, his wife had administered far too much tonic, instead cast a charm that resulted in the wives of several of London's most prominent bankers and lawyers to believe that they WERE teapots. Not just any teapots, of course, but singing, dancing, spraying teapots that quite overwhelmed the wizards and eagerly scattered throughout London.

It had required a second alarm and every spare wizard there was to be had to hunt down all of them, and it was terribly hard to keep it all discreet, especially as a very enthusiastic four, having shed by now most of their clothes, or "tea cozies" as it were, had taken it into their heads to dance a tarantella around the statue of Lord Nelson, spitting all the while, whilst their fifth compatriot sang a sort of sea chanty that she had no business either knowing or understanding and which, had the other ladies noted it, would had drawn several serious challenges as to the validity of her pedigree.

Considering the danger of letting the novices perform any more memory charms, orders had been to seek and capture; the plan being to collectively deal with the women back in the safety of the Ministry where they were no longer arousing the public's attention.

That brought them to the third exploit of the afternoon. The Experimental Potions Department, being in a hurry to further explore the potential of their VERY effective low viscosity lubricant, had decided that rather than clean it up properly, a good drying charm of some sort ought to be enough to eliminate the danger and leave the floor looking oh so shiny. However, as they would only discover in later experiments, a drying charm, when applied to the experimental low viscosity lubricant, had somewhat the opposite affect, and turned the potion into nothing more than a very, very strong glue. Everyone having fled the building to deal with nearly naked tarantella dancers in the heart of London, this was only discovered when the ladies were brought back in, attempted to cross the main hall, and found themselves rooted to the spot. Their captors managed to escape by stepping out of their shoes, but the women, having shed their expensive leather footwear ages ago (for teapots do not wear shoes) were for all intensive purposes, immobile.

So it was that when Minister of Magic Wendall Wentworth Westing returned to his office following a rather long and boring trip to France, he was greeted by the sight of some thirty-odd middle-aged scantily-clad VERY rich muggle women expectorating profusely, singing bawdy songs at the top of their lungs, and twisting their bodies in a rather unorthodox fashion with their feet seemingly rooted to the floor of his lobby. Taken as a whole he found it much more interesting than listening to Minister Jacques 'Le Fop' Portiscue expound on the finer points of kestral grooming. He nodded to the very flustered heads of several departments, skirted the lake of glue, and headed up the stairs to his office and his brandy.

He found his Associate Minister of Magic seated at his desk, reading four feet of parchment and taking notes at the same time.

"Good afternoon Sigmund, everything still spinning?"

Sigmund Belsch was tall, wiry man whose blond hair was not going gray, it was going white. He stood up immediately and stepped aside with a little bow to allow the Wendall to sit down.

"Yes, sir. I have notes for you here on these proposals, as well as the minutes of the last few sub-committee meetings."

"I'm sure those were as stimulating as ever."

Sigmund smiled, "Indeed, sir."

"I hate to say it, but I would almost welcome them after three days in the French Ministry. 'Why say it in five words when fifty will do' seems to be their motto."

"Was the visit productive sir?"

"Yes, once we had danced around the subject long enough Portiscue was quite ready to concede that they had been cheating us abominably for the past 10 years with regards to the import tax. I rather wish we had danced around it a little longer, for once that business was done I was punished with a VERY lengthy description of French kestral breeding. Have you ever wondered at the fertilizer content of 19 kilograms of dung from a pregnant kestral, Mr. Belsch?"

"No, sir, can't say that I have."

"Neither did I. Miss Strong? Miss Strong could you come in here? Thank you, Miss Strong I would like you to ban everyone from the office today who plans on bringing up the subject of kestrals. And I would like you to move that painting in the outer office to somewhere else in the building."

"But there are no kestrals in that painting, sir."

"No, but there is a rather large paddock, and you know Sir Thomas' sense of humor. He'll have heard all of this by now and go bring a friend from a painting somewhere in the Agriculture Department and there they'll be, kestrals! Thousands of them, all staring at me! Make my excuses to Sir Thomas, if you'd be so kind Sigmund, and then Hillary may move him somewhere else. Try the atrium; there was a most interesting sight there this morning. I am correct in assuming that the dancing, singing women in the ingenious attire were not put there for my benefit? Some sort of 'welcome home' present, perhaps?"

Hillary Strong blushed to the roots of her black, impeccably styled hair and Sigmund coughed.

"You are correct, sir."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it. Have some of those summer employees of ours help you with Sir Thomas, Miss Strong, and if he is the least bit ungentlemanly you may hang him next to the portrait of Lady Goldenblatt in the sixth floor nursery. Oh, and check to see if they have quite cleaned all the vomit off her from last week. Thank you, Miss Strong."

Sigmund smiled to himself. The sixth floor nursery was a day care of sorts for the children of ladies volunteering with the Witches Aid Society. The head of the society at the moment had an absolutely terrifying three year old, and it was the greatest fear of the wizards of the Endangered Magical Beasts and Birds Department, located just down the hall, that someday young Typhon would get loose and wander down their way. As a result the nursery was an absolute fortress, with no one to mind the children but a senile retired Hogwarts school nurse and the portrait of Lady Lucille Goldenblatt, who never tired of yelling at small children. She enjoyed her position, being a hearty woman who didn't mind a little tear here and there, but being sentenced to the nursery was the nightmare of most all the other paintings in the Ministry. Sigmund was quite sure that last remark about the vomit had been purely for Sir Thomas' benefit, to remind him what might happen should he misbehave again.

* * *

 

"He certainly is heavy, isn't he?"

"Ugh, could stand to lose a stone or two, that's for sure."

There came an indignant muffling from under the canvas.

"Now watch your tongue Sir Thomas, there are ladies present. The sixth floor is not so far away, you know."

Silence.

Hilary Strong smiled and walked sedately along as the two boys hefted Sir Thomas' portrait down the stairs to the atrium. The teapot ladies remained were they had been, just as loud and eager as ever. There was now the added element of several dozen Ministry workers, all arguing over whose responsibility the women were now. The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department was claiming that, seeing as the teapot itself had already been neutralized, they were no longer involved. The task of fixing the ladies and returning them to their homes was clearly the responsibility of the Misguided Muggle Management Department. However, the MMMD's wanted nothing to do with the mess, saying they only had jurisdiction over muggles who mistakenly wandered into wizard-intensive areas, like Quidditch pitches and the dragon reserves, or the occasional muggle whose pursuit of alcohol has lead them into the Leaky Cauldron. Since these ladies had clearly not come to this position of their own free will, this was obviously a job for the SPCM. But the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Muggles had not the least intention of taking the job, theirs was a legislative function, not to mention that attitudes towards muggles being what they were the society only had 3 paid employees. Someone had come up with the idea that it all ought to be dropped in the lap of the chaps down in the Experimental Potions Department, but no one had seen hide nor hair of them since the glue incident, their doors were locked, and there was a strong suspicion that they had every one of them fled the city. Hilary smiled again, Sir Thomas would be delighted.

"Just hang him there boys, across from Lord Abernathy."

Kieran steadied the painting as Douglas helped heave it into place.

"Feast you eyes, Sir Thomas," he declared as he pulled off the canvas with a flourish.

Hilary had worked seven feet from Sir Thomas for the past five years. She had never seen him speechless before.

"Tommy? Tommy my boy, good to see you! Well, pity you couldn't have got here sooner, you've missed quite a morning."

Sir Thomas brightened. "Desmond, it's been decades since we've been on the same floor!"

"Well, you know, you make one slightly indecent joke about the Minister's wife..."

Hilary rolled her eyes, "Come along then boys."

"Where are we going now?"

"To the sixth floor."

Kieran and Douglas stopped dead in their tracks.

"Don't look at me like that, I promised Minister Westing I would check on Lady Goldenblatt. And I'll be needing you two to relieve Agnes."

"Who?"

"Agnes Donnelly, from Belfast, I believe, she's been assisting old whats- her-name in the nursery and she hasn't had a lunch break yet."

"Please Miss Strong, don't make us go in there, we have too much to live for!"

"Look at it this way, at least there's two of you. She's been on her own all day, poor thing. Besides, we have a few more mandatory pre-Hogwarts placements coming through today, one of the houses that was going to house them has an infestation of salamander-mites and apparently could burn up at any moment, so I need her to help me sort them all out. Last time we made modifications to Professor Ambrose's arrangements we sent too many to one house and they were sleeping in the bathtubs!"

"I'll sleep in the bathtub if I don't have to go into the nursery."

Hilary put her hands on her hips, "You're good boys, and I'm fond of both of you, and I believe every person is entitled to their own choice. So, you can choose to help out in the nursery, or take the second option."

The boys heaved a sigh of relief.

"The second option is cleaning out the pens in the infirmary of the Endangered Magical Beasts and Birds Department, I've been told they are getting quite foul."

Kieran pouted, "That's not fair."

Hilary tossed her head. "I've spent the past five years working seven feet from the 200 year old portrait of a wizard who, among other accomplishments, holds the standing record for longest conversation carried on with HIMSELF. We'll talk about fair another time. You aren't particularly attached to those clothes are you?"

As the boys trudged back up the stairs to almost certain death and or dismemberment Douglas could hear Sir Thomas whisper, "By the way, Desi old pal, tell Edgar I won't be needing those kestrals after all."

* * *

 

Agnes Donnelly considered herself a patient girl. As the oldest of 9 children and the roommate of two girls with no siblings at all, she was experienced in handling childish behavior. She had been expecting childishness in the Ministry Nursery. What she had not been expecting, however, was the Devil himself. However, coming from a very Catholic village, Agnes was well schooled in how to handle the Devil, and after three hours of torment, had succeeded in beating him at his own game. All it had required was a quick message to the Experimental Potions Department.

So it was that when Hilary Strong knocked on the nursery door, it was a very calm and serene Agnes who opened the small peephole.

"We've come to give you a lunch break Agnes," Hilary said.

"How nice, I was beginning to think I was going to have to steal some of Arthur Lawrence's juice and crackers. Go ahead, Ill be just a minute."

Hilary began to unfasten the 6 deadbolts located at various heights on the outside of the door, a recent addition to the nursery since the arrival of Typhon. In response she heard Agnes dialing the combinations of 5 locks and manually unlocking 4 more, then heaving up the port challis as Hillary opened the solid oak door.

The nursery was in a remarkable state of cleanliness, in fact it was damn near pristine. Toys were lined up neatly on the shelves, the self rocking horse was snoozing contentedly in the corner, its bandaged foreleg appeared to be healing quite nicely. Old WhatsHerName was dozing in a chair and Lady Goldenblatt appeared to be knitting a pastel colored straight jacket serenely in her frame. The carpet appeared to be the same color it had been this morning, and the walls were, remarkably enough, completely intact.

Douglas and Kieran paused in the doorway, staring about in wonder. Hilary turned to Agnes.

"Um, Agnes, dear, where are the children?"

"Playing."

"Where?"

At that moment a small cracker landed on the carpet. Agnes spied it, sighed, and picked it up. "Arthur, I told you that snack time was over, and I meant it."

"Sorry Miss Donnelly."

Taking a deep breath, Hilary lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

40 eyes stared back at her in wild delight.

"Agnes..."

"It's quite safe Miss Strong, I assure you. The chaps from the Experimental Potions Department tested the release charm on Typhon first, just before they all left for Kent, didn't they Typhoid my boy?"

"Yup," the answer came from a three year old who was plastered back against the ceiling, with only his head free to move about. Other children were suspended by only their feet, clinging to one another to stay closer to the ceiling, or swinging back and forth by their ankles like trained monkeys.

"They're working on making it a wee less strong, enough so they can climb about a bit more. However they seem quite content just to hang around."

"How long have they been up there?"

"Oh, an hour or two. Everyone having fun?"

"Yes!"

"Fingers?"

"Ten!"

"Toes?"

"Ten!"

"Eyeballs?"

"Two!"

"See," Agnes shrugged, "They're fine. As easy as lambs."

Hilary swallowed. "If their mothers-"

"Want to know where to get a bottle, just tell them the boys down in Ex. Pot.'s are MORE then willing to offer them one when they return from the country, and they're willing to offer Typhon's mother a barrel. What's for lunch?"

"Well, boys, it appears you're off the hook. Lady Goldenblatt, you'll be all right there?"

The old dowager look up from her knitting and smiled. "They cleaned me up just fine dear, and I daresay the little chandeliers will keep for a few more hours. Nature may be pressing if they're not let down by three or so, if you know what I mean?"

Agnes nodded, "Nurse, um, what's her name? She knows the release charm, if they need it badly enough, they'll be able to wake her up."

"Lovely to meet you my dear."

"Have a nice afternoon Lady Goldenblatt."

Kieran lowered the port challis and Hilary refastened the outer locks while Douglas swept Agnes down the hall on his arm. Seeing as she had saved Kieran and himself from almost certain death at the hands of an unrestrained criminally demented three year old, from that day forward she was looked upon as their own personal messiah, her name was immortalized in song, and she never had to pay for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks ever again.

* * *

 

"But how on earth did you get them _up_ there?"

"It's a lot like de-gnoming a garden, actually... No, Tilly, she can't go to the Craven's, they've got four now as it is."

"Do they, oh you're right, I missed that one."

"You didn't bring your glasses."

"I forgot them."

"You're a rotten liar, and as we have told you time and again, look rather distinguished in your glasses."

"You're just being nice."

"Well if you mind it so much I'll stop, and tell you quite frankly that you look most un-charming squinting like that."

"You're sure there's no more room at the Craven's?"

"They already have Kieran and Douglas, quite charming lads, aren't they? And they are getting Connor and Sean this afternoon."

"I just thought, all those boys..."

"Well, they'll keep each other company, won't they?

"It says here the Craven's were willing to take six."

"And there is a note here from Professor Ambrose that their household can't possibly take more than four. Mrs. Craven's just a soft touch, that's all."

"I bet she won't be once she sees how much food 14 year old boys consume."

"She's raised one of her own, I'm sure she has the general idea."

"All right then, what about these two?"

"Two?"

"O'Toole and a first year, McCarthy."

"There's room at the Crawford's."

"How many have they got?"

"Just one, Emmet McDermott, aren't he and Bridget both in Hufflepuff?"

"Ravenclaw, I think, and different years, Emmet's in my little brother's year."

"Speaking of the Bruce, how's he doing? Did all the bones heal straight?"

"Straight enough, and he's doing fine, from what I've seen of him. He spends all day running wild with Eric Redding, so he's hardly ever home."

"That's convenient, isn't it?"

"Terribly. So O'Toole and McCarthy can go to the Crawford's?"

"Yes. I think..."

"Aggie..."

"Let me check the lists ONE more time... Don't frown that way Tilly, it makes your face look crooked."


	3. The First Years

**Chapter Three: The First Years**

"Do I really have to go?"

"What a question, of course you're going."

"Can't I wait a year...or four?"

"I couldn't wait for my first year at Hogwarts, it was the most exciting day of my life, and just you wait- it will be exactly the same for you. Now, where are your gloves?"

"It won't be just the same."'

"The grey ones dear...what was that?"

"I said it won't be just the same for me as it was for you."

"Did you pack them in your trunk? How do you mean dear?"

"You're father wasn't the Minister of Magic!"

"Neither is yours, pet, ah, here they are. Don't dawdle so Willimena, do you want to miss the train?"

" _Yes._ "

"Darling-"

"It's going to be just like at primary school. They'll all hate me, and they'll tease me, and I won't have any real friends."

"You have to-"

"I want to go to the muggle academy!"

"They teach absolutely nothing but nonsense at that school, it's not an institute of learning at all. Besides, how would it look if the granddaughter of the Minister of Magic didn't attend Hogwarts? Do you want them to think you're a squib?"

"They can think whatever they like, as long as they leave me alone!"

"You're cousin has had a fabulous time."

"That's because he's a lot bigger than I am, and he's had a lot of practice at pummeling the people who make fun of him." Willimena didn't add that her older cousin , Wendy Wilbur Westing, didn't get bugged about being the grandson of the Minister of Magic because people were usually too preoccupied tormenting him about his _first_ name to pay any attention to his last.

"Well then you will just have to let him teach you."

"So you think it would be better for me to be found brawling in the halls of Hogwarts than attending a muggle school?"

"Students have been brawling in the halls of Hogwarts for generations, it's a time honored tradition and completely respectable under the right circumstances. Hiding from what you are, however, is nothing but cowardice. I don't care who your grandfather is, you are _MY_ daughter, and you will not be a coward. Now put your gloves on and lets be on our way young lady."

Willimena Wisteria Westing, the granddaughter of Minister Wendall Westing, had no choice. When her mother said march, you marched. Silently cursing herself for not escaping through the window that morning, she collected her gloves from where she had hidden them under the mattress and followed her mother and the house elf with her trunk out the door and into the London morning.

* * *

 

Sally Murgatroyd, on the other hand, had been up since dawn. Face washed, dress and robes pressed, her hair plaited to perfection down her back, she looked the picture of an eager young witch. This only served to thoroughly annoy her two older brothers when they stumbled out of bed and down to breakfast, after their mother had come into their rooms and physically removed their sheets, _then_ sent in the house elves to dump cold water over them.

Rupert and Despard had never been what you could call "morning people."

" _God's teeth_ , how long have you been up?" Rupert growled, seeing Sally sitting in front of a now-clean plate, serenely sipping tea while he attempted to bolt down toast.

"Hurry up you two! I'll not have Sally miss the train on her first time to Hogwarts!"

Their mother had been bustling about since about an hour after Sally woke up. Not because there was a terrible lot to do, but this was Mrs. Murgatroyd's first day as an empty-nest parent, and she knew of no other way to handle this serious accusation of age than to bustle as much as possible while her children were still at home. She had moved the trunks about in the front hall four times, made Sally recheck her packing list three times, and was starting on her second pot of coffee.

Despard , on the other hand, merely rolled his eyes. "Oh, you're eager now, just wait until you blow something off in potions class, then you'll wish you hadn't been so hasty. Then you'll wish you were back home, learning baby steps in primary and sleeping in till a decent hour."

Sally grinned and shook her head. "No I wouldn't."

Despard turned to his younger brother and shook his head. "We went seriously wrong with her somewhere Rupert, I just can't figure out where."

"Maybe it was reconsidering selling her to that traveling circus when she was two."

"Possibly."

"Boys!" Their mother stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. Sally swung her feet in excitement, too happy to take any notice of her brother's teasing.

"You were talking to Mrs. Logan, and it was hot, and the fellow said he would give us each a _dozen_ chocolate frogs for her."

"Thinking back, we would have been overcharging him."

"Something about using her in the finale in the hippogriff baiting act..."

"Come to think of it, didn't he try and buy Euri Logan as well?"

"Sure, but Plato said he had plans for his little sister and wouldn't let him have her."

"That's when he doubled the chocolate frog offer, didn't he?"

"We've really been far too good to you, Sal."

A bell rang at the door.

"Carriage is here!" Sally positively flew out of her chair to grab her cloak from the hook in the hall and help her father load up her trunk.

"Come along boys!" Her mother bustled through, clearing plates and actually removing the still egg-laden fork from her son's hand.

"But I haven't finished breakfast yet!"

"You should have been up earlier, you're old enough to know the drill by now, out you go!"

As the boys climbed into the carriage they found Sally already waiting, ankles crossed, neat as you please, with two large bundles on her lap. She passed one very stuffed linen napkin to Rupert, and the other to Despard, who hid them away just as their mother was closing the front door. Despard smelt the sausages, eggs, and toast and gave his sister a smacking kiss on the cheek. He turned to his younger brother.

"I knew we kept her around for a reason."

* * *

 

The scene in the Leaky Cauldron, however, was much less serene. The inn was booked, every single room taken, full of students from the country who had stayed the night before taking the Express to Hogwarts.

Tom Thatcher knew all about Hogwarts students, he had two boys of his own, and like Mrs. Murgatroyd, was sending his youngest off to his first year this morning. It gave Tom a sense of accomplishing something, a sense of peace. That peace was quickly shattered by the chaos and unholy amount of noise made by one family of guests.

They were, in fact, his only family of guests. And there were fifteen of them, all related, all loud, all unaccompanied.

When Caroline Parker had appeared in his fire two months ago to inquire if he would be willing to "look" after her and her sisters' children for one night between their journey from the north and their departure on the Hogwarts Express, he had said "Why certainly." The response had been automatic, he had been distracted, he had been preoccupied, he had been _medically incapable_ of making such a decision. He had simply not realized that this was THE Mrs. Parker, that her sister was Mrs. Clark, and her sister-in-law was Mrs. Logan.

Their collective spawn were more commonly known as the Roman Circus. Six Parkers, five Clarks, four Logans, three owls, two cats, and one miniature carnivorous tree.

Their mothers were no doubt at this very moment dancing naked in the wilds of Scotland out of sheer joy, for this year the last of their children were starting school. The Circus was now complete.

Complete, and squarely in the lap of Tom Thatcher, who had felt things could often get out of control with just two children.

He had resolved this morning not to get involved, to just let the children take care of themselves. He had then immediately started up the stairs in panic, as he realized that if the Romans didn't make the train there was little question as to where they would be spending the night. He found, to his great shock, however, that his presence wasn't needed. Fifteen children between the ages of seventeen and ten was indeed chaos, but the Clarks, the Logans, and the Parkers were used to chaos, and they managed it well.

The children were all awake and over half were dressed by half past nine. Tom poked his head into the first room to find Caesar Parker standing over his youngest brother Marcus, checking a list item by item before closing the trunk, and eating a bowl of porridge at the same time.

Tom didn't recall the children ordering breakfast brought up, and as he went to check on this found himself easily sidestepped on the stairs by a cheerful and heavily laden Cassandra Clark, who was carrying four more bowls of porridge and a jug of pumpkin juice, with what Tom assumed to be glasses clinking in the deep pockets of her dress.

He stood, transfixed by the balancing act as she entered the third room, shouting "If she's not up by now 'Genie just empty the wash basin on her!" Moments later a shrill shout was heard, to be followed by the emergence of the sodden figure of Calisto Clark, her nightgown covered in a large purple dressing gown, clutching the empty wash basin in one hand as she stalked away from him towards the bath.

She was met in the hall by a curious and more-than-slightly amused eleven year-old boy, who had emerged from the fourth room and looked as if he was about to say something.

"One word Cassius, I swear just _one word_ and this time the color change will be permanent."

Cassius dropped his smile and averted his gaze until his sister passed him by. For a moment Tom thought he might lose control and begin to laugh, but he was saved by the voice of one of the Clark girls.

"Cassius! Get in here and eat your breakfast NOW!"

A taller boy darted out of the fourth bedroom, struggling with his tie and ruffling Cassius' hair as he passed. "Come on old man, before it gets cold." That boy stepped into the third bedroom, from which there came a booming, "Inspection!" followed by the sound of a small stampede.

"Socrates, do you call that a tie?"

"Calisto normally does it, and she slept in! Don't look at me like that Ari, you don't have to tie it every day if you take it off real careful, you know."

"You can't call yourself a man and have your cousin tie your school ties. Watch Plato again, and when I come back I want to see it done properly."

"You know, this whole authority thing has gone straight to your head."

"If it weren't for me you would have left your wand in the carriage. Start taking care of yourself and we'll stop treating you like a baby."

"Speaking of babies, Ari, where's Euri?"

"She's not here?"

"She's...ugh, who invented these things anyway...she went with Electra...does this look right?"

"Went with Electra? Where did they go?"

"Something about last minute errands, the twins took them into the ally early this morning."

" _What!_ Caesar! Cassandra!"

Tom flattened against the wall as the eldest of the Parker and Clark clans came at a run. When Aristotle Logan used that tone, something was seriously wrong."

"What is it? Everyone's up, everyone's packed." Caesar looked around.

"And fed," Cassandra added, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"And accounted for?"

"Um," Tom could almost hear the other two reckoning in their heads, it didn't take long.

"Damn it all, Julius! Augustus!"

"Electra!"

"According to Socrates they all went into Diagon Ally early this morning, and they took Euripides with them."

"What?"

"Impossible, I charmed that door myself."

"Oh- didn't I mention- the twins worked out how to beat that years ago."

By this time the Clark girls (minus Electra), Cassius, and Marcus Parker had gathered in the doorway.

"Do we owl mother?"

"Cassius, the first thing you need to learn about going away to school is that you NEVER, EVER owl mother."

"Besides, she and Aunt Caroline and Aunt Isobel are probably out dancing in the fields by now."

"What time is it?"

"Quarter till ten."

"Damn it all, we need to leave in fifteen minutes!"

"Calm down, it never takes that long to get to the station, they've got to be back soon."

Ten minutes later the remaining eleven children were assembled in the main dining room, their trunks stacked near the front door, Caesar staring impatiently at the door to the ally while Aristotle waited for the carriages on the street and Cassandra checked upstairs to make sure nothing was left behind.

At precisely ten o'clock, three things occurred: Cassandra came down the stairs with three pocket handkerchiefs, two sets of gloves, a hairbrush, a comb, and a cat that had been left in the bedrooms; the carriages pulled up and Aristotle began directing the loading of the trunks; and the door to Diagon Ally opened to reveal the twin figures of Julius and Augustus Parker, Electra Clark, and little Euripides Logan, who were all smiling and laughing until they saw the faces of their siblings and cousins.

Julius broke the silence, "I just want to point out that we ARE on time."

* * *

 

"Ugh, mother he's got jam all over my robes, jam!"

"Oh darling, now he's too small to-"

"He is old enough to know the difference between a tea towel and my clothes! _Why_ did he have to come along?"

"Well I couldn't very well leave him at home with Nana, not with her heart condition, and you know Agnes is no longer working in the nursery so until they get us another barrel of that glue- don't make that face dear heart, he _is_ your brother."

"He's a monster."

Mrs. Keating thought of remarking on how well her eldest child had behaved when SHE was three, but thought the better of it. Handful or not, Veronica had never driven quite so many people to tears as her baby brother.

"Well, you'll be rid of him soon I daresay, mind the drop there darling, press on, the platform is just this way."

Diana Keating was thinking nostalgically of her first days at school, and hardly noticed the distinguished looking gentleman standing beside the platform until he approached her. Her trained eye easily recognized the lines of his very expensive robes; a Ministry man, that was obvious.

"Mrs. Keating, I presume? I'm Mr. Forsythe."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Forsythe, I'll be happy to speak with you in a moment, but if you'll just let me see my daughter onto the train."

"Yes, that's what I am here about, Mrs. Keating."

"I don't understand."

"The Hogwarts Express is a very special, very distinguished, very cherished locomotive, and it is out of concern for it's safety and the ever urgent need for an on time departure that the Ministry has banned your son from the platform."

Mrs. Keating blinked, slowly, twice.

"Excuse me?"

A lesser man might have withered at the sudden frost in her tone, Veronica mused, but the impeccably groomed Mr. Forsythe didn't so much as flinch. His attention was entirely focused on her baby brother. Mr. Forsythe tracked her brother's movements the way one watches a charmed cobra- with every expectation of sudden violence and a tinge of resentment for the veneer of domestication.

His tone remained polite, yet firm. "Your son is not allowed to pass onto the platform while the Express is in the station."

"This is outrageous!"

"Diana? Diana what's going on?"

"Oh, Clarice, you couldn't imagine what this man is suggesting..."

Veronica, who thought that this was all marvelous, turned around to see a red haired woman, Clarice, just behind them. Their conversation was blocking the way onto the platform, and a rather conspicuous line of children and trunks and owls was piling up.

The woman had a blue and silver pin with the initials W.A.S in raised letters, so Veronica assumed she was one of her mother's "society girls." She was trailed by a tall gentleman with a brown mustache, a girl with brown curls, and a small boy that could be no older than three, whose face was positively covered with jam.

She locked eyes with the girl, who took note of Veronica's equally sticky brother; the pang of sympathy and stab of camaraderie was instant. Veronica grinned and walked over.

"Hello there," smiled the gentleman, "You must be Veronica? I'm Mr. Lawrence, this is my daughter Deirdre, she's starting this year as well."

"Unconscionable harassment!" Veronica's mother raised her voice.

Mr. Lawrence sighed and gave the girls a conspiratorial wink. "Let's see if I can't smooth this over before lunch, hmmm? Watch your brother Deirdre."

Deirdre groaned, slipped a handkerchief out of her father's passing pocket, and wrapped her hand in it before taking her brother's.

"This is Arthur. He is the messiest creature on the planet."

Veronica shrugged. "They won't even let my brother on the platform."

Deirdre's eyes widened in appreciation. " _Wow_."

Mr. Lawrence came back over. "Well girls, here's a to do. They're not letting your brother come through to the platform Veronica, and no one is willing to watch him, they refuse to let him run loose, so go say goodbye to your mother, and then I'll get you two settled on the train. Say goodbye to mother as well Deirdre, she and Arthur are going to stay with Mrs. Keating."

Overcome with joy, Veronica ran back to her mother, who was spitting mad and speaking very fast with Mrs. Lawrence, and who merely patted her on the head and gave her a quick kiss and a bit of trite advice about keeping her gloves clean. Veronica dashed back to Mr. Lawrence, who had stacked her trunk easily on top of Deirdre's; in the next instant he had placed herself and Deirdre on top of the trunks and was wheeling them, to Veronica's delight and slight alarm, straight towards the wall.

"All right girlies, hang on tight and away we go!"

Veronica twisted around to wave back over her shoulder. "Goodbye Typhon!"

A very sticky, very demented face trying to inhale a cookie was the last thing she saw before Mr. Lawrence pushed her through the wall and she disappeared. Had she dashed back out she would have been rewarded with the sight of Typhon swallowing too quickly in his surprise, and nearly choking, necessitating a good solid thwack on the back from his mother, which pitched him over and into Arthur. This started them both crying, resulting in both Mrs. Lawrence and the indignant Mrs. Keating being hustled out of King's Cross by a very haggard looking Ministry official, taking their mewling offspring with them.

* * *

 

Abigail Vincent stepped back just in time to avoid being run over by a large trolley containing two trunks and two girls about her own age.

She watched the cart being wheeled toward the train with a stab of envy. Her own father was not there. Mr. Hugo Vincent Sr. was a senior overseer in the Experimental Potions Department, and due to an "incident" this summer which her father _still_ would not talk about, he was not allowed to leave his laboratory unsupervised for longer than an hour. This gave him exactly enough time to transport Hugo Jr. and herself to platform 9 ¾, give her a kiss on the cheek, tell Hugo to look after his little sister, and apparate back to work. Abigail's mother was in Bath, celebrating the end of summer holidays with several of her Witches Aid Society friends who had also sent their youngest children off to school at last.

Hugo had seemed to consider pointing toward the train and warning "Don't get left behind, Abby" as complete fulfillment of his 'take care of little sister' obligation, and was at the moment running wild with Gordon Hedgpeth and Bartholomew Babcock. Abigail had tried following them for a few minutes, only to understand that that bag in Hugo's pocket was, as she had always suspected, _not_ chocolate frogs, as he had professed to her father, and that the 4th year Ravenclaws were, in fact, attempting to slip a small incendiary device, unseen, into the second to last compartment of the Hogwarts Express. Feeling this could not end well, Abigail had gone back to her trunk.

She was fairly certain her father had meant for Hugo to put it on the train for her, but Abigail thought it rather dangerous to distract him at this point, and decided there was nothing for it but to try and move it herself.

It was rather heavy, she wasn't sure what her mother had packed in it, but the best she could manage was to drag it about a meter at a time towards the train, the whole while cringing at the loud scraping noise of the brand new trunk. Mother wasn't going to like that at all.

She was almost to the baggage compartment when the stampede hit.

It was impossible to understand what was happening in the press of bodies that instantly surrounded her. She was buffeted by trunks being passed up, orders being called out.

"The next one, pass it up Cassandra!"

"Keep your wig on Julius, we're going as fast as we can."

"Where's my trunk?"

"Caesar don't stack it like that they'll fall open!"

"Ow! Plato your tree bit me, _again_!"

'Well YOU shouldn't have made that joke about spider mites."

"Wait! Cassius left the chocolate frogs in his, pull it back out!"

"Does this look infected to you?"

It all took place in less than ten minutes. The swarm of students dissolved into the train, and Abigail was left looking at a completely full baggage compartment.

"Merciful Merlin," she growled, looking up and down the train for the next one, her face dropping as she saw it was several cars away.

"Get caught by the Roman Circus, did you?"

She turned to see a chuckling boy about six feet tall with black hair pushing a trolley and smiling at her.

"You'll have to forgive them, they get so used to it just being themselves all the time, they forget about the rest of us."

Abigail shook her head, "Are they all related?"

"Yes, not immediately, you know, they're all cousins. But you only really ever get them like this at the beginning and end of the year, the Hogwarts hat has sorted them out all over the place, so they're usually much easier to manage."

"Well that is a comfort."

"Indeed. I'm Orion, by the way, Orion Forseti."

"Abigail Vincent, pleasure."

"Vincent...as in _Hugo_ Vincent?"

Abigail nodded. Orion whistled. "Well, you must be stronger than you look. First year too, must be if you haven't met a Clark, Logan, or Parker. Here, put your tunk up on our trolley, and we'll find a place for all this further up the train, there's usually heaps of room. Cassie, I'm not moving this by myself, come on!"

At Orion's shout a tall girl with long black hair turned from her conversation with one of the Romans and trotted back.

"Arachne says they passed an empty compartment further up. Hello," she smiled at Abigail.

"Abigail Vincent, my sister Cassiopeia Forseti."

Cassie's eyebrows raised, "Are you related to Hugo Vincent?"

Again, Abigail nodded with trepidation. Cassie giggled, "Oh, don't worry. Hugo is one of my year mates, so I like him just fine. If I weren't in Ravenclaw, however, it might be different. Where is he," she looked around the platform, "Trying to blow up the Slytherins again if his record is worth anything."

Several cars up, sure enough, there was a nearly empty baggage compartment, into which Orion and Cassie loaded the three trunks.

"They'll take care of it for you at Hogwarts, it'll be brought up to your room just as soon as you are sorted."

"Thank you very much."

"Pleasure was all mine, by the way, where did you say your brother was poking about?"

 "End of the train, second car from the end."

"Right," Orion fished in his pockets before pulling out a small, flat, metal object. He blew the lint off of it and fastened it to his shirt. "That means I ought to be in the back half of the train myself. Prefect, you know, and your brother creates about half of my work. Damn entertaining though, the explosions are never exactly the same."

A whistle blew, and students on the platform began scattering for the cars.

"Best be getting on then, won't be long now."

Cassie waved and hopped into a compartment a few cars down. Abigail followed Orion into the train, and was immediately confronted by a flushed 17 year old girl with her brown hair pulled back in an elegant twist.

"Hello Belle, have a nice summer? Have you seen Caesar or Declan, we got here a bit late and-"

"Orion, we need to talk to you."

"We-"

"It's rather urgent," Belle smiled nervously at Abigail.

"Right, you'll be fine on your own, won't you Abigail? I seem to have a pressing matter of business to attend to. Nothing to it, of course, you just stay on the train and get off when everyone else does. Excuse me."

Rather confused, Orion followed Belle into the next car, leaving Abigail standing in the corridor. She made her way quickly down the train, taking a seat in an empty compartment in the third to last car, having decided that, if her brother was going to blow up a car full of Slytherins, it just might be a sight worth seeing.


End file.
